


King of Gangs, Queen of Thieves

by DeepSeaChallenger



Category: Assassin's Creed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-03-30 15:42:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3942337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeepSeaChallenger/pseuds/DeepSeaChallenger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>People steal from others all the time during the 1800's. From the wealthy; from the poor. From the sober; from the drunk. You can take from anyone.<br/>But what happens when you steal from the wrong person?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

You enter the tavern, ready to search for the right target. Someone dressed well, someone with some money. You dodge dancers and drunkards, eyes skimming over faces and clothes momentarily. No one so far seems to have any shillings or expensive clothing, maybe this isn't your night.  
Through a break in the crowd of people, you spy him.  
Sitting at a table against the wall, leaning back casually while he talks to a dancer seated across from him. He is dressed finely but not enough to catch your eye; his face already does the trick. Mildly attractive and lightly bearded, partially concealed by the hat he wears tipped over his eyes. He wears gauntlets and a heavy coat, but beneath it you can see his broad shoulders and strong hands. One shilling dangles from his neck, and you wonder why someone would wear money. His dark eyes slide in your direction and you look away, pretending to eye an abandoned bottle of wine on a table beside you. His gaze lifts away and you study him from afar, searching for anything you can take.  
Against the wall is a wooden cane, brass topping its edge. It looks quite expensive, and he looks too young to need a cane like that.  
Maybe he won't miss it.  
You work your way through the crowd and lean against the wall, inches from the cane. He's got his back turned, and you slowly reach out-  
Warm leather presses against your skin and tightens, and you feel his eyes boring into you.  
"Miss," he says quietly. "See something you like?"  
"No." You growl and try to pull your hand away. He stands, and he's about six inches taller than you.  
"You sure?" His voice is accented in the perfect way, and while its rough and low, you can hear the lilt.  
"Yes." You try to pull away and he just nods, letting you go. He sits back down, looking back at the dancer.  
She gives you a jealous look- must be a petty woman; it matters little whether you find him attractive or not.  
Emphasis on attractive.  
You rest against the wall and you hand inches toward the cane. Almost there...  
Your fingers close around the brass eagle and you quickly head for the door, pushing past the drunkards.  
"I think that woman just took your cane." Someone says behind you. Without looking you know it's the dancer, and you keep pushing, almost to the door.  
"Someone just took Frye's cane!" Someone shouts, a man this time. You duck your head and dart for the door, hearing the crowd inside begin to push toward you.  
You run through the streets of London, looking back each time. The group of gang members following you dwindles each time, and though the leader is not among them, you begin to slow.  
You stumble into an alley and analyze the cane, with its elegant carvings and brass eagle at the edge.  
"Give it back."  
You look up, to see him standing there, both hands balled into fists. His features are pulled in a look of disapproval, and from his rigid shoulders you know he's ready for a fight.  
"Why should I?" You ask, leaning against the wall. If he makes a move for the cane you can scurty up the wall, and get onto the rooftops.  
"It's not yours and you know it." He holds out a gloved hand. "Give. It. Back."  
"No."  
He steps toward you, a dangerous look flashing across his face.  
"I'll ask you once more. Beyond that, my patience is worn. Give me the cane."  
You turn and scramble up the wall, hauling yourself onto the rooftop. He curses and follows you, his leather booths scraping on the stone.  
You start sprinting across the rooftops, the cane clutched tightly in your grasp.  
"I asked you for my cane, woman, now give it back!" He shouts, his words coming slow and loud. You look back and realize he's almost gained on you; when you look ahead, there is a large gap between the buildings. If you can speed up and take the gap, its likely he won't see it, and that he'll fall through.  
You force your legs to go faster and leap over the edge, landing and stumbling forward onto the roof.  
The gang leader is not as lucky.  
He skids to a halt too soon, and for a moment he teeters on the edge of his boots, both arms thrown out and waving as he tries to stop his fall. He looks at you wide eyes before disappearing toward the alley below.  
No one survives a fall like that.  
No one.  
You step toward the edge, scared of what you might see.  
He's lying in the mud in a heap, his head twisted toward the side. His arms are both spread out, palms up, and his hat is off to his head, in the mud. The shilling he wears around his neck is pressed against his chin, thrown by the fall.  
Maybe you stole from him and he chased you, but you just can't leave him like that.  
You climb down and kneel beside him, putting the cane at a safe distance behind you. His breathing is heavy and labored, and his eyes are closed. No limbs appear to be broken but his fingers, which are twisted in an odd shape, although on closer inspection you see they are just that way, they have been broken several times over. On his glove, on the inner side, you can see a mark that resembles a hooded figure, almost like an arrowhead. You shrug and put his arm down. He's alive. Maybe not for long, but he's alive.  
He groans and stirs, moving his arm. You jerk back and reach for the cane, in case he tries to attack you.  
But the man doesn't attack you. He opens his eyes and shakes his head slowly before his gaze settles on you and the cane. His eyes flash malevolently and he pushes himself onto his elbow, sitting back with a hiss of pain.  
"You won't be following me." You growl. "Injured, are we?"  
"Fuck you!" He spits.  
"Aren't you a peaceful one." You say teasingly, slowly analyzing the cane. "How much did this cost you? Few dozen?"  
"I want it back." He makes a feeble attempt for the cane, and you stop studying it, holding it out of his reavh easily and looking at him seriously.  
"Why's it so important to you?"  
"Can't you say the same for yourself?" He snaps. "Give it to me."  
You shake your head. "I don't even know why I'm still here. I could have left you to die here in the alley."  
He grows silent.  
"What's your name, anyway?" You ask.  
"None of your shit!" He barks. "I want my fucking cane."  
"You sure do swear a lot."  
He stares at you, then lunges for the cane, pushing himself off the ground. He wrenches it from your grasp and stumbles against the wall, holding it out threateningly.  
"Come any closer and I'll beat you with this."  
"I was about to say the same."  
The corner of his mouth twitches.  
You step back and put both hands up. "You're a leader of a gang, no?"  
"Does it matter?"  
"I want to join." He stares at you suspiciously, then lowers the cane.  
You keep both hands up to show you won't take it.  
"Join? It's not a gang, it's a syndicate."  
"You syndicate, then. I'm Mary. Richards." You stick out your and hand he eyes it. Women don't seem to shake hands with him a lot, it seems. Finally he grasps your hand and squeezes.  
"Jacob Frye.... proven yourself a sly thief." He says.  
"Guess so."  
"Meet me back at the tavern.... alright?" Jacob tips his muddy hat to you, and though he keeps the cane poised, he looks a little more reluctant to use it.  
"Tomorrow night."


	2. Chapter 2

"It's the lass that took Jacob's cane!"  
"Don't bother with her, man, he said to leave her alone."  
"Must be formidable if he came back all co'red in mud like that."  
You push through the tavern, scanning for Jacob's face. If he's not here, what's his gang doing?  
A big man steps in your way, looking down at you with an arrogant grin.  
"Doesn't matter what Frye said, if he can't fight her, I can!"  
People step back and form a ring around you, pumping their fists and declaring a fight.  
"He said to meet me here." You say curtly, raising both fists. "Are you going to get out of my way, or will I have to beat your head in?"  
The man shrugs and steps closer. "You'll just have to beat my head in, then."  
His arms shoot out and his fingers wrap around your neck before you can stop him, before you can do anything.  
The gang members begin to cheer and surge forward, and you feel their fists slam into your side, you back, you head. The man continues to squeeze, his face a mask of placidity.  
A gloved hand appears behind him and taps his shoulder, and you feel the punches begin to slow and stop altogether. The man turns, releasing you momentarily, and you see a brass knuckles fist fly out from behind his face where his mouth would be, a stream of blood and what appears to be a tooth behind it.  
The man slumps to the ground, holding his jaw with vith hands and staring up at Jacob with a cowed look.  
The crowd of gangsters has gone silent, they stare solemnly at the leader as he crouches beside the man, and rips off the necklace at his neck. A leather cord with a gear wheel attached to it; if you cast your gaze around the others, you can see they wear the same.  
Jacob stands and holds the gear up for all to see, and a wave of murmers sweeps through the crowd.  
"He didn't...."  
"He just disowned Drake!"  
"Not a part of us anymore..."  
"What's he gonna do with it?"  
Jacob stares down at Drake, lowering his hand and studying the gear. You stand behind him, silent, watching for his brass knuckled fist to come flying toward you.  
"Get out if here." He says to the cowarding man. "You're no longer to be welcomed in this tavern."  
Still cowering away from Jacob, Drake scrambles to his feet and starts for the door. People move apart for him and watch as he bursts into the street. A few even follow.  
Jacob turns toward you and steps closer, unclasoing the small circlet at the back. He carefully loops it around your neck, his chin where you nose is. He steps back and nods, and the gang begins to cheer, pumping their fists.  
Jacob turns and heads for the door, and the crowd allows him through.  
"Where are you going?" You ask, following him. He looks back and gestures to you with one arm, then pushed open the door and holds it open for you.  
"Do you know what the gear represents?"  
"Not really. Something to do with machinery? Trains, steamers...."  
"Yes." He nods and draws his coat tighter around himself against the cold, walking up the street. "It's a reminder that the wealthy inventors know nothing of the people and the machinery behind their easy lives. We represent the working class, the oppressed."  
When he says 'oppressed', he gives you an uncertain look, like he's fearing judgment. You nod and motion to the shilling around his neck, instead of a gear.  
"What of that, then?"  
"It reminds me that poverty is never far off. That it doesn't matter how much anyone else makes, none of it goes to the people who work twice as hard making sure everything is running properly."  
"A good fit."  
"Always has been." You note how he walks with silent swagger, not even glancing down to make sure his feet aren't about to strike a rock or a crack in the pavement. A difference from the way most people walk, their heads low and their shoulders up.  
You rather like it.  
"We're going to the train station, if you'll come. I want to show you something only Evie in the syndicate knows about."  
"Evie?"  
"My sister." He steps back almost casually and throws an arm out in front of you as a horse races by, a carriage attached to it. Following far behind is the owner, waving his hat and shouting vulgarity. "She works there, like I do some days."  
"Will she be here tonight?"  
"Probably. I haven't spoken to her in a few weeks." He starts walking again, and the trains station is up the street. It's mostly empty save a group of people milling around the side, and when Jacob walks by, they stare at him with suspicious, angry eyes.  
"Jacob..." You say nervously.  
"Just ignore them-"  
Someone reaches out and shoves his shoulder against the wall.  
"Whazzat you were saying to the pretty lady? Ignore us?" A brutish man says. He towers over Jacob, and the way he's speaking, he sounds pissed.  
"I told her to ignore you, yes."  
"No one ignores us, mate. Least of all you. Now you wanna tell me why we're to be 'ignored'?"  
"Maybe because-"  
The man punches Jacob, his fist connecting with his mouth.  
You grab the bigger man's shoulders and heave him against the wall, ignoring the looks that his gang gives you. Jacob slumps against the wall, his head down. Something red rolls from his mouth onto the ground.  
"Leave us alone, you got that?" You snarl, grabbing the man's jaw and spamming his head against the wall. "You don't bother us, and we won't bother you. If you can't agree to that, I'll keep going." You slam it once more, waiting for him to nod.  
Finally he does, and stumbles off into the group of people, holding the back of his head and muttering.  
"Come on." You grasp Jacob's shoulder and help him stand straighter. After a while he pulls away and walks on his own, one hand pressed to his mouth as he shoves through the gang.  
"Are you alright?"  
He spits red onto the road and nods. "First time I've been punched there in years."  
"You seem to be the person delivering them, usually." You say, as you near the train station.  
"Most of the time." He removes his hand and stares at the red smear on it before shaking his head and walking onto the platform for the train, looking around.  
"What did you want to show me?"  
"Behind the scenes." He gives you a wry grin and starts toward the building behind the platform. "Where I like to spend my days." He pushed open the door, and you are hit with the smell of coals burning. All around you, people shovel coal into boilers, of all ages, both male and female.  
"There's my sister." He nods to a woman wearing dark clothes in the corner, helping a few men sift through larger chunks of coal.  
"Jacob, you brought a new member? And what happened to your mouth? Were you fighting again?" Evie hovers around him, grasping his jaw and tipping it every which way. "You were fighting again, weren't you."  
"No." He dips his head and tips his hat to you, gesturing with his hand. "This is Mary Richards."  
"Is she an Assassin?" Evie lowers her voice and steps closer to Jacob, but the still air allows for sound to travel easily toward you.  
"I don't even think she knows we exist." Jacob replies quietly. He turns back to you and spreads his arms proudly, a lopsided grin on his face. "This is the working class, and we make everything work."  
"I can see that." You grin back and shake his sister's hand, then motion to the coals. "Keeping boilers and trains running, that's good."  
"It's difficult." Evie says. "Me and Jacob probably aren't supposed to be working here, but we do it anyway."  
Jacob nods and lifts a shoulder. "I consider it a real job."  
"That's just what you consider it." Evie says wryly, boxing his shoulder. She turns back to the coals, gesturing with her hand. "Someone's behind you, by the way. Member of your syndicate, right?"  
Jacob frowns and looks back, at a young woman leaning against the wall. She has a concerned look on her face.  
"Jacob, after you left, Drake came back."  
"I'll handle him myself, then-"  
"He brought the whole Madrid Faction."  
Jacob's eyes widen and he pales noticeably, his hands balling into fists. "How many?"  
"Dead or dying?" The woman snorts and shakes her head. "More than half of us are gone. The rest had to run."  
Jacob curses and stares at the ground, his shuddering breath filling your ears. His face looks calm and placid, but he's shaking with rage; that much is visible.  
"I'm going back to the tavern. Tell everyone to stay away, alright?" He says to her. The woman nods and starts for the door. Jacob follows suit, nodding to you. "Stay here."  
You stop and wait for him to leave.  
Then you piece together a plan.


	3. Chapter 3

"He may be a complete and total jackass, but he knows how to handle himself." Evie says tersely, throwing down the shovel. The dark cloak and hood she wears matches Jacob's, but it does little against the dark smears of coal on her hands and boots.  
"The Madrid Faction, I've heard of them. One of the most ruthless gangs in London, beside Bloody Nora." You say back, staring at the door handle.  
Evie considers it, then gives the shovel to a smaller girl and motions to you to follow.  
"Look, what he's about to do isn't as hard as you think...."  
"What's he about to do, then?"  
Evie pulls open the door and allows you through, then pushes it shut. The horizon is beginning to lighten, but there is no heat from the sun to warm the streets.  
"Just a little assassination. Get in, kill the gang leader before anyone knows what's going on."  
"Evie, from what I've seen, he's going to go with a dagger in broad daylight. Didn't you see him? He was pissed."  
"I am, too." Evie studies her right wrist, and you catch a glimpse of what looks like a hidden knife attached to the leather. "Trust me. Tell you what, we'll go to the tavern and make sure he doesn't lose a finger. Alright?"  
"Let's go, then." You walk confidently down the street, staring down the rivals from before. They give you nervous looks and turn their backs, keeping their heads down.  
"What's got them so upset?" Evie asks, eyeing them with something close to malice. "They always come for anyone recognizably from me and Jacob's syndicate."  
"A minor confrontation before coming here." You turn the corner, the last one before the tavern. "We're almost there."  
"Stay in the shadows or in groups of people. With any luck my brother will have already done the job."  
You nod and break away, heading for a small group of people by the entrance. Evie nods to you and leans against the wall, watching the steady stream of people fill the tavern.  
None of them wear the gear around their neck.  
"..... what group're you from?...." a man grasps your arm and grins at you, and you shudder at the lack of white teeth.  
"None of your damn business." You growl and pull away. You slip away from the group and join Evie behind the wall.  
Something inside shatters, and Jacob bursts through the side door, a broken bottle in his hand. People pour after him, shouting insults and tearing at his arms and hat.  
"Jacob?! What the fuck did you do now?!" Both you and Evie begin running beside him, and he gives you a nervous grin before throwing the bottle down.  
"Something I probably shouldn't have. It was worth it, I swear." He suddenly grabs Evie's hood and you arm, pulling you into an alley and abruptly halting.  
The Madrid Faction races past, and silence fills the night, save the sound of your own breathing in your ears.  
"Did you kill him?"  
"Yeah, I got him, alright." Jacob laughs. "I think I did it in, though. Do me a favor and stay clear of this entire borough for a few years."  
Evie slaps him.  
Jacob stares at her with wide eyes, then tackles her, and they both fight in the mud, muttering curses and yowling when the other sibling delivers a lunch.  
"Uh..." You watch the scuffle, unsure what to do. "Do you two normally fight like this?"  
Evie pushes him off and Jacob backs away, huffing through his nose.  
"You could have gotten yourself killed, and over pride!" She reprimands. "What the hell were you thinking?"  
Jacob looks down.  
"Oh, oh, exactly, ah? You weren't!" Evie sighs and leans heavily against the wall. "No more fighting, you understand? Both of you." She nods to you, her brow furrowed.  
"Well, the Madrid leader's gone. His gang's nothing in this borough; we'll drive them out soon enough." Jacob says quietly.  
"He's got a point. I'm guessing you used the bottle?" You ask, gesturing to the cut on his hand. Jacob winces and nods.  
"It was a fucked up mishap. Shouldn't happen again, I'll keep better control of who works for us." He eyes Evie tensly, like he's preparing for her to slap him again. Evie steps forward and tugs his hat so low over his face it reaches his mouth, then starts down the alley.  
"It doesn't really mater as long as we don't lay eyes on them in this area. I just need a drink."  
Jacob glares at her and pulls his hat back up, motioning to you to follow. "C'mon, we'll go back to Monty's."  
"Anything not overrun with Madrids." You say, and follow them through the streets of London, to the tavern owned by a former Madrid, Monty.  
***  
"It's quiet." You say, studying the inside of the tavern.  
Jacob shrugs, taking another swig from the third flask tonight. "Too quiet, maybe."  
"Please." Evie stares into her cup, then looks up at the men speaking in low voices by the door. "I see me some Assassins. Make sure he can stand, alright?" She points to you and then at Jacob, who gives her a suspicious look.  
"Well, you heard her." You look at him and smirk as he stares with hazy eyes at his flask. "Can you stand up?"  
"No." He shrugs and sits back in the chair, leaving the flask on the table.  
"Come on. I'll help you." You hold out a hand and he takes it, pushing himself up with one hand. "Not too hard, huh?" You say, and he nods, staring at his feet. Judging by the way he's swooning, you know you won't envy him in the morning. Jacob looks at you with cloudy brown eyes, then shrugs off your hand and collapses back into the chair.  
"I feel like I'm going to do something stupid." He says, as you sit back down beside him.  
"Everyone does when they're drunk." You reply.  
"No, I mean stupid even if I wasn't a drowning rat."  
"And what's that."  
Up until now it's been like speaking to a young child, using the obvious word choice. Now he seems to suddenly sober, and pushed the flask away with both hands.  
"This."  
He leans over the table and kisses you, his lips finding the spot a few inches in front of you ears.  
Then he sits back and nods contentedly, tipping his hat lower over his face.  
You stare at him, and aren't surprised by the warmth you feel in your chest. So he does feel the same.  
Not that you were thinking about that.  
Evie comes back over to the table, a grim look on her face. She sees you staring at Jacob, and Jacob with his hat tipped forward, and for a moment says nothing.  
"Did I miss something important?"  
"I was just leaving." Jacob says slowly, his words slightly slurred.  
Evie gives him an apprehensive look, then nods at you with an expression that asks you for help. "Right... and how do you intend to walk halfway across London if you can barely stand?"  
Jacob coughs as if to make a point, then stumbles to his feet, refusing to meet your eyes.  
"Mary, I would appreciate it if he falls asleep tonight without getting into a fight or coming to the boiler room tomorrow with a broken arm because he fell off a bridge."  
"I don't think I'll need any persuasion." You say, watching Jacob stagger for the door.  
"Thanks." Evie nods and sits back down, gesturing to the men from before to join her.  
"Jacob?" You call, pushing open the door. He's walking in a slow, shaky gait, his back to you. "Come on, Evie wants to make sure you're still alive tomorrow."  
"I'm fine." He says back, still walking.  
You catch up to him and put a hand on his shoulder, shaking your head. "Well, do I have permission to ask about what just happened?"  
Jacob stops and stares at you, and from the look on his face, it's clear he has no idea what he's about to say.  
"Yeah." He says listlessly. "Yeah.... you got permission...."  
"Good."  
"Good." He repeats, gazing at you with a half lidded expression.  
"About when you said you were doing something stupid, how often do you think stupid things happen?"  
He suddenly kisses you again, his lips finding yours, then pulls away and gives you a small grin.  
"Too often."

**Author's Note:**

> My first xReader fic, hate if you want. I think Syndicate's going to be awesome.
> 
>  
> 
> I don't own Assassin's Creed or its characters. They belong to Ubisoft.


End file.
